A Tale of the East
by FrAz316
Summary: With The Courier basking unwillingly in the light of his victory at Hoover Dam for the NCR, he is then pulled in by General Oliver into a world much more detached than his own... Please Review :D rated T for language and violence
1. A Preface to the Wasteland

**I. Preface of the Wasteland**

In the Mojave there are only two things that get you by, money and power. Money because it pandered to the greed of others, while quenching your own selfish desires, and power because the simple feeling of throwing your proverbial weight around provided a thrill like none other.

Paylor Thomas, now known across the Mojave as "The Courier" had no particular inkling for either of these privileges, preferring to wander rather than waste. However, with the Second Battle of Hoover Dam over and done with, the New California Republic managing to repel the scourge of the Legion back into the reaches of Colorado, he was in dire need of a break. A well deserved one, at that.

The Courier had been instrumental, the lynchpin that held the Republic together through the toughest of times. Hunting the elusive weasel known as Benny, the man who had left him for dead in exchange for the Platinum Chip, led him the New Vegas where he was then summoned by Mr House, the Lucky 38 casino's mysterious owner. Not many know what words were exchanged during their meeting, but on that day Paylor Thomas set out to do the right thing for the Mojave, the right thing for humanity, human, mutated or otherwise.

From that moment on, The Courier imprinted his legacy on the Wasteland. Bartering peace between the NCR and the Brotherhood of Steel is famed as his greatest achievement outside of the Battle, but even the security and odd jobs he provided to the lesser communities proved critical in defence of Hoover Dam in the end.

The Dam

Millions of pounds of concrete, water and manpower had gone into building it, while thousands of guns, ammunition, sandbags and soldiers had made it defendable. But it was still a target, the monument to the entire NCR's Mojave Campaign. Without the Dam, they would have no power, and no power meant the Legion would hold the land by the throat, knife blade ready to slit the throat of the Bear once and for all. Failure was not an option.

The Courier fought, repelled the soldiers wielding machetes in the night, calling for blood with hate writhing in their voices. Yet with all this fear mongering and force, they could not topple the mighty empire the Courier had build on. The Legion could not defeat the combined force of the Bear, the Khans, the Brotherhood and the Followers. As dawn set over the Mojave, it was a new day, and Caesar's forces were pushed all the way out of Denver, the NCR attacks plaguing and withering their supply lines until there was nothing left. The Legion was now a shell of its former self, and well out of the Mojave. So bright was the future, without the shadow of the bull.


	2. The High Life

**II. The High Life**

The pulsating gusts of wind echoed vibrantly throughout the Lucky 38 cocktail lounge as three figures sat on plush couches in one of the several "bays". Around them, several Protectrons stood on guard, while one painted with a black tuxedo and white lapel that would periodically ask the trio if they wanted their drinks topped up.

"Would you like another drink, sir?" the Protectron asked in its typically monotone metallic voice.

"No thank you, Butley" the Courier replied politely "we are fine, thank you."

"Yes, sir" turning, the Protectron waddled back to the central area of the lounge, the bar, to wait behind the counter for further orders.

The Courier lay back into the embrace of the couch, closing his eyes as relaxation seeped through his weary skin. Outside he could still hear the drunken citizens of New Vegas throwing away their caps in celebration to the various casinos and bars the Strip had to offer. The Tops, Ultra Lux and the Gomorrah had been making a killing out of his name ever since he got back from The Dam. He didn't care for the latter two, much too seedy for his liking, but the Tops was practically his since Benny was "taken care of".

Beside him, leaning on the arm of the couch with eyes drifting side to side as he took in the ruckus below was Scythe. Tall with dark hair cut to fit helmets, he was a brooding man, insightful yet young, much like The Courier himself. Combat was ingrained into Scythe's soul, a soldier who was fiercely loyal in fighting. He was good with the conventional fire power, big or small guns were no problem to him.

Across the table, standing as his hulking frame could not fit on the couch was Hrothar the Deathclaw. Normally feared throughout the Wasteland as the deadliest creature, The Courier had come to realise that this monarchy was only to a certain group of the mutated lizards. Hrothar's more simple minded "brethren", the ones that lived outside Deadwind Cavern, were the scourge to the Mojave, and gave his intelligent kin a bad name. For all of its faults, the Enclave had successfully brought clear minds to beasts, and the alpha male that sat before them was one of many Intelligent Deathclaws that inhabited the south-central caves. Refined and cultured, Hrothar used his knowledge to outsmart foes, but when words were not enough; his sharp claws could do the talking just as well.

"Strip's lit up pretty well tonight" Scythe blankly let out "Wonder when Neil will get back…"

"Let him have his fun, Scythe" the low, intimidating growl of Hrothar was enough to make Legion soldiers flee in fear, as proved many times before.

"He's a Super Mutant" the soldier let out a surly laugh "He'll need to fork over _a lot_ of caps to get some action tonight"

"…Better not do it in the Presidential Suite…" The Courier chuckled, taking a glass from the shiny wooden table and slugging the contents down his neck

"Be careful you don't get drunk…ON PURIFIED WATER!" Scythe berated him playfully.

"You never know when you may be needed, man" for all his fame imposed regalia, The Courier was actually only 22, and when at rest, acted like any other young man in the Wasteland, but with a mind much older and wiser than his body.

"If you fail to prepare" concurred Hrothar "You prepare to fail."

"Alright, alright, alright" Scythe picked up a shot glass and downed the copper brown whiskey inside of it "Don't gang up on me, this isn't interrogation…"

As they all laughed, a sense of relaxation seemed to present itself to them. This was a feeling they seldom felt in the Mojave, as fighting Mutants, Legion and even people he thought were his friends never felt like a walk in the park by anyone's standards. It was nice to just sit down, have a drink and watch the world, instead of being face down in the dirt looking down the scope of a sniper rifle.

Butley the Protectron had waddled over once again, but this time he brought no refreshments on a tray.

"Sir" he droned "There are two figures waiting at the elevator for you."

"Oh really," The Courier sounded mildly surprised, as he hadn't been expecting any visitors this evening "Who are they, Butley?"

"One is recognised in my hardware as Neil, the Super Mutant from Black Mountain, the other appears to be General Oliver of the New California Republic" the robot listed appropriately "the General seems to be in a hurry."

Oh god. General 'Wait and See' Oliver. If The Courier had learnt anything in his time fighting for the Republic, it was that the hierarchy of the NCR Army was as dull witted and oblivious as a pack of Radroaches. "All right, send them in…"

"Yes, sir" and the robot once again turned, this time veering off to the left in an alcove that led to the middle of the bar area that housed the elevator.

"What do you think Mr Oliver wants?" Hrothar asked, keeping his grovelling voice low.

"Somehow, I think it's what we fear the most…" The Courier replied cryptically as they resumed their natural positions for the entrance of a stocky uniformed man being escorted from the alcove to where the trio sat by a seven foot tall Mariposa Super Mutant.

"I tried to tall him Paylor!" Neil imposed himself over the General, shooting him a look, to which the man didn't seem to care "But he insisted in coming!"

"Don't worry Neil, its cool…" he reassured him. "General Oliver" Paylor began nonchalantly "this is unexpect_"

"I don't have time for this chit chat crap!" Oliver cut across him, taking The Courier aback slightly, but he didn't let it show. "We are about to be at war!"

The silence was louder than any Howitzer ever fired. The bluntness of his news was frightening; the fear in his usually steely voice was viciously palpable, which meant that this was dead serious.

"…What, you mean…?" The Courier knew he didn't need to ask, his fears had been confirmed the moment the General walked in to the bar.

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean!" now getting rather irate, the Protectrons in the bar began to turn to face the General, weapons quietly primed "and we need your help!"

"With all due respect General" Hrothar said sternly "It has not been very easy to predict such threats, we are not prepared for this…"

"YOU may not be prepared for this" Oliver retorted "swanning about in your bar, but the NC F'n R has been getting ready for another war for the past three months!"

"Hey, shut the hell up!" Scythe wasn't taking it "It was us who busted our asses at the Dam for your NCR, the least you could do is give us some bloody respect!"

General Oliver was about to give him hell back but Courier, seeing that the Protectrons, Neil _and_ Hrothar were about to go all deadly on his NCR patriot ass, decided to intervene before it got ugly. Besides, he had been preparing for this day for a good while.

"Right ok, ok, ok…" The Courier stood in between the two glaring men "General, don't worry yourself, we'll get ready as quickly as possible and meet you at the Embassy, say in half an hour?"

"That isn't good enough" Oliver clenched his fists "we do not we have the time to chin wag with Crocker! I need you outside in one hour, I've arranged a Vertibird to pick you up and take you to Saint Lucas ASAP!"

"Got it" he turned to his group of companions as the General was escorted out of the bar by Butley

"You better not be late, Courier." he called "The NCR needs you like hell!" and he was gone, disappearing behind the impersonation stone circular alcove.

Now free of the General's insistency and…interesting choice of musk, The Courier got down to the nitty gritty of the plan of action that had been suddenly imposed on them.

"Right lads, this is what's going to happen" he cleared his throat before explaining the situation. "As you are all probably aware, the Mojave has been under threat of invasion. By who or what is unknown, but the NCR's scouts have been telling me that the towns in the outer rim of Vegas are getting pretty antsy. Say they're scared of another rise of the Legion, but my sources say that it is definitely _not _Legion."

"And I'm guessing Oliver wants _us _to find that out for him?" Scythe posed the question, but The Courier was sure he knew the answer.

"That's exactly it" he answered, sounding exasperated at the mention of the General again "When he says 'war', he really means that the NCR is bricking it, and wants us to go check it out…"

"Typical bloody NCR…" groaned Neil, rubbing his eyes

"Precisely, and that means that we have to leave now" The Courier continued "But first I have to see Mr House. As for you guys, I think it would be best for Scythe and Neil to come with me…no offence Hrothar…"

"Think nothing of it, Paylor" assured the Deathclaw "As I understand, the outer communities are much less hospitable of Deathclaws than the Mojave is. If you do not mind, I may return to my community at Deadwind to tend to my brethren."

"That sounds good" The Courier smiled "Tell Lilia I said hey!"

"I shall do that, my friend…"

"Alright guys, I'll be back in a minute, get ready and meet outside and I'll join you soonish, kay?"

"So much for taking a break…" The Courier heard Scythe mumble


	3. Preparing with the Man Upstairs

III. Preparing with the Man Upstairs…

The Courier, now buzzing with anticipation and trepidation all at once, waited in the cool confines of the Lucky 38 elevator as it powered upwards towards the top floor, floor one hundred, Mr House's private suite. Like any man, Paylor had a boss, someone that gave him the orders that he carried out. It was common knowledge that Mr House was the tactician behind The Courier's acts, but it was the manner that he carried them out that defined who he was.

Believing that human life was valued higher than executing a plan to the letter, The Courier had deviated slightly from House's main purpose (To rule New Vegas in its entirety) and sided with the NCR instead. Originally hostile to him, House had come to accept his role in the grand scheme of his beloved Vegas, running the Strip while the NCR fought with the Legion in the East. Paylor still came to him for a chat and guidance, but mostly to run through his latest plans before he carried them out. Gut instinct played a major role, but it was nice to run through them with a fellow professional.

"So, the Republic has finally gathered the courage to investigate this 'new enemy'?" the giant green tinted face of a young, human Mr House appeared on his large computer terminal in the suite.

"Apparently, only two months two late…" The Courier replied, slightly annoyed.

"You are well aware of General Oliver's...lackadaisical attitude to advancement" stated House "If we were to have persuaded him earlier…"

"Then the Republic would have jumped into another War it couldn't finish" Paylor replied curtly "If it hadn't been for us, the Dam would have been drawn out into a bloody stalemate."

"True…true…" the screen bound man thought for a couple of seconds "What is your plan, then. This 'enemy' does indeed exist; we ourselves had established that" his voice hardened "how you tend to deal with it".

"You know yourself…assimilate to destroy…" sounding unsure, The Courier mumbled off.

"So you intend to become the NCR? Or the Legion?" House bristled "You cannot just waltz on in and simply take their land and identity."

"Then what do you suggest?" the man calmly shot back "The Bear had taken the Bull's life, and is about to claim its land. The goddamn place couldn't get much worse…"

"_You _have been spending too much time with Ulysses, my friend" was House's only response.

"Regardless" continued Paylor, changing the subject "I'll be departing from the Long 15 Train Station soon, supposedly going to a fringe town before hitting Legion territory."

"My Geomapping scans indicate that it is the settlement of Saint Lucas, a small survivalist community built close to a Vault…"

"A Vault, you say…" The Courier pondered this for a few seconds "…What defences do they have?"

"I can't tell from here, but I am guessing a large town police force or a small army, considering it's connected to the NCR Rail Line" House paused for a few seconds to run a few calculations "They, according to the NCR records, are on the cusp of joining the NCR. By the database's accounts, they're fairly keen but fearful that the fact that they are joining will attract…unwanted attention…"

"So, Saint Lucas…reserved approach…then go on to the East…got it…yeah, got it!"

"You better get going" Mr House told the Courier "Our good General wont be pleased if you are late to his little flyby meeting" the screen-man chuckled dryly.

"Thanks again, sir" Paylor called him that out of respect for everything he had done for him. "I'll be back soon, don't you worry…" he said half sarcastically, half self reassuringly.

"You better be" there was a hint of sadness in House's voice, as though he was losing a child "I need my second in command preferably alive…"

Now back in the Presidential Suite, the Courier mulled over his conversation with House while gathering his gear for the trip.

Pragmatic as House was, he had a point. As much as The Courier was all for the NCR, he hated their upper echelon. It was all snobbish ex-NCR military personnel and staunch politicians, and The Courier didn't mix well with people that didn't share his beliefs on "freedom". The entire prophecy of conquering land may create a unified republic, which ironically Paylor agreed with, was sound but their methods of doing it were unjust. Extortion, ravaging land, all of these tactics were frequently used, and it was not something the Courier generally wanted to be associated with.

Going into his room of the Presidential Suite, he went to the locked metal case under his bed that contained his travelling gear. A set of LAPD Elite Riot Gear armour that he found in the hellhole known as the Divide that he quickly got into, adjusting all the straps and zips. For weaponry he had an AK47, a Russian Pre-War assault rifle that chambered the common 5.56mm rifle bullets. For his side arm he went with a .45 Auto pistol from New Canaan's own Burned Man.

Content with his supplies, he then took out the weathered material camping backpack that had accompanied him on his travels right from Goodsprings to The Fort. Inside it he threw a bountiful supply of Stimpacks, RadAways, Rad-Xs, food and water supplies and a few spare magazines of 5.56mm, the rest of which he slotted in the Riot armours bandolier across his chest. Lastly, he slung the AK around his body with the leather strap, letting it hang loose from his hands to check it was secured properly, and tightened the straps on his backpack. Ready to get going, he took one final look at the room that he lived in, hoping that he would see it again some day, somewhere down the line.

Getting in the elevator, he silently prayed that Oliver's overzealous attitude to war wouldn't get in the way of his mission. God help him if it did…God help him indeed.


	4. Come Fly with Me

IV. Come Fly with Me…

Leaving the Lucky 38 with haste, The Courier walked out to the strip in full bloom. Drunkards, be it travellers or NCR Police, stumbled the streets, singing in a croaky but jovial fashion as they wore away their weeks wages with a night on the town. Amidst the ruckus and pleasant chaos, our good friend General Oliver still managed to appear sullen if not agitated, trying to shoo away the advances of a drunken trooper as he waited for the Vertibird to arrive in the middle of the Strip. Neil and Scythe stood a few meters away, against the railing of the Lucky 38, laughing their heads off.

"You…You're a pretty wo…woman…" the male trooper stammered, slouching into the General's padded shoulder blade.

"HEY!" the female trooper who accompanied him shouted "I thought you were into me!"

While Oliver tried to look as casual as possible, it was obvious that his temper was about to get the better of him, as his brow was ruffled a fact that was illuminated by the burning lights of the Gomorrah.

"Having fun there, General?" Neil goaded, still in fits.

Grumbling angrily to himself, Olivier decided that he couldn't hold in his superiority any longer.

"Troopers, if you make any more drunken remarks, or touch me ever…EVER again!" he took a sharp breath "I'll make sure you're sent to the NCRCF faster than you can say 'Caesar"!"

Snapping instantly out of their drunken haze, the two troopers frantically tried to apologise to the disgruntled General, but he rebutted their words, instead telling them to get out of his sight, as the loud rotors of the NCR's Vertibird came into their hearing.

Spoils from the NCR-Enclave War, Vertibirds were one of the only means of transportation in the Wastes. Essentially pre war helicopters, their incredibly armoured hull and dual Gatling Laser cannons made for incredible aerial support too. Plus their seating areas could hold up to six people plus the two pilots, so there was plenty room.

Hovering over the Strip for a few seconds before landing in the middle of the road between the Lucky 38 and the Gomorrah, the Vertibird kept its blades turning, forcing the Strip-goers to hide for cover in the Tops section, away from the gunship, the Super Mutant and the surly General.

"Your friends can't come with us!" The General shouted over the roar of the engines "Can't have too many new people in Saint Lucas, the locals'll get antsy!"

Stuck up Bastard. Only General Lee Oliver would make _less _people go on a high priority mission. Never mind reinforcements, as long as we appeared well in the public, it was all good in his books.

"…Dickhead…" mumbled Scythe as the two gathered round The Courier.

"I didn't expect this, to be honest…" and Paylor hadn't. Usually Oliver is happy to let him do his own thing as long as it helps the NCR. Things there, in hindsight, must be in a knife edge. "Well, we can't persuade him. The grouchy git would just have us court marshalled or something to that effect" he sighed "Right…while I'm gone, you both make sure the Mojave is in good knick, okay? Don't let the NCR do anything stupid, especially."

"Got it" the both said in a freaky amount of unison.

"Good, well, bye guys" the Courier's gut wrenched slightly. Not having his friends was one thing, but knowing no one was going to be pretty hard going. He would have to make friends quickly; otherwise this would be one long mission. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do…" he winked, before walked off to the Vertibird with the General.

The Mojave night bristled, hot air rippling in the dim sunrise in the distance as the Vertibird blitzed across the sky. In the 'stomach', so to speak, of the 'bird, The Courier sat on the hard steel "benches" if you could call them those. Below them, the darkness of the Wasteland peaked and troughed with the dunes, tiny specs of Raiders spreading sparks of gunfire into unlucky travellers. Paylor surveyed them, a helpless bystander viewing their fight from afar, unable to do anything.

And then they were flying over the giant mass that was Hoover Dam. A small shiver vibrating down The Courier's spine, the memories that he held of that place were only recognisable in some people's nightmares. Legion soldiers fighting NCR troopers, and by extension Paylor, in hand to hand combat. Blood smeared everywhere, bodies pilled high to rival the dunes themselves. He was glad when the Vertibird kept powering East, away from the violence that the Dam was remembered by, and in to a violence that he didn't understand…

Accompanying him on this joyful journey was the good old General himself, chatting at a fast pace on a radio with someone in the military chain of command, and two other troopers. Both regimented and silent in their tan desert camouflage, The Courier sensed uneasiness in them, possibly about the flying. He didn't blame them, not many people had experienced it, due to the complete lack of transport until recently.

"I've just been on the radio with Sergeant Myles" Oliver broke the smothering silence after placing the radio down violently on its receiver holder "and what he's telling me isn't on my schedule!"

"What's happened?" The Courier asked, hoping he didn't give a long winded explanation of some small problem

"Saint Lucas is a small, unknown town on the border of Nevada and Colorado, but it has its tactical uses" always about the tactic, it was _always _about the tactics "It's the last stop on the NCR Train line, for now anyway, but according to Myles, some goddamn Ferals have begun invading the goddamn town!"

The two troopers beside him snapped their heads towards him, faces in cast in a shadow of disbelief.

"But there are troops there, sir!" one of the soldiers, the one across from Paylor sitting next to Oliver, exclaimed with a dire sense of hope "Can't they do something?"

The Vertibird jittered unexpectedly, causing the General to curse profusely as he slammed his fist against his metal backrest, which also separated the, in his opinion lucky, pilots from General Oliver.

"We better be almost there, soldiers!" he shouted, banging his fist more times.

Instantly in reply, an intercom from somewhere in the belly crackled into life with the static of a microphone. The voice on the other end sounded exasperated and panicky.

"Yes sir…two minutes sir!"

"The troopers were caught off guard dammit!" the General continued his rant to the two soldiers and Paylor "They're all trapped in the walls of the city, fighting for their bloody lives!"

Again there was extensive shock on the troopers' faces, being the General's body guards probably gave them the illusion that war was easy as he said it was, poor, poor deluded men.

"How many casualties?" The Courier asked, pressing onwards as the Vertibird banked further down wards.

"Myles reports six, all of the NCR" he grumbled something quietly along the lines of 'damn locals'. "Civvies are safe, all holed up in their church with a few soldiers, that's to the West of the town." The General went into the back pock of his tanned army fatigues, laden with golden stars and coloured stripes and produced a drawn map, crumpled but still readable.

"Saint Lucas is a small place, like I said" he pointed to an area on the map with a building drawn in it "The church is here, to the west as soon as you enter through the archway from the train station" he pointed to the north "the market is there, enclosed off with metal fences, the Ghouls haven't touched that part apparently" then his finger trailed off to the East "a couple of houses, mostly communal residence though" and finally he pointed at the south; the entrance "the arch way is usually guarded by their town militia, but they have been diverted to the Feral killing" Putting the map away, The Courier couldn't help but think that the General was enjoying himself a little too much…

The Intercom buzzed back into life and the pilot, much calmer this time, told them what was going on.

"Thirty seconds until drop off point, uhh….you may want to look out your windows…"

Turning my body to left to get a more complete view of the task at hand, I let out a small gasp. The General then spoke with uncharacteristic trepidation, soft yet delivering a sudden impact of realisation that he could have balled right in my face as the two troopers' breathing became sharp and hoarse.

"We can't lose Saint Lucas, Courier…" his voice gravened "If we lose Saint Lucas, we let the Legion get a foot hold on the region, and that is _NOT _an option…"


	5. Liberating the Front

V. Liberating the Front

As the dark mask of night eased off its hold on the Wasteland, The Courier could see the world for what it really was. Sunlight of the dawn tipped over Colorado, irradiating Saint Lucas in an eerie glow, but that was not the problem by any means. Saint Lucas itself, the town bordered in by five foot high sand stone walls, was under attack by the most fearful of enemies, the assumed peace of the religion-orientated town struck down by a sea of pale orange skeletal figures, merely only covered in skin that acted more as clothing rather than to protect the muscle, or what was left of it.

They swarmed in masses all over the small town, attacking troopers in packs; dividing and conquering their targets with brutal bludgeoning of their radiation hardened bones. The tore and slashed, ripped and bit at the defiant NCR troopers and town guards, bathing in muzzle flashes that may take one down, but that one would be replaced by two more. Flesh flew, chunks chattered with bone on the early morning sun lit ground. This was true chaos, chaos like no other. Nor was it orderly or needed, but unforgiving and relentless.

Suddenly, the gunship roared in rebuttal, the dual Laser cannons letting loose thousands of long red beams by the second. The kickback battered into the belly of the Vertibird, sending Oliver off of his seat and onto the metal floor, to which the Courier laughed at openly.

Picking himself up, the General swore under his breath as he went to the door release switch, pulling back the lever so as the door would recline right. Gushes of fuel soaked wind penetrated Paylor's lungs, but he wasn't there long enough to take in the scent, for Oliver had already given him a rappel rope.

"Get down there, secure the goddamn town and kill those rotting bastards!" he roared, trying to kindle enthusiasm in the two troopers who, pale faced, fumbled with the cord around their belts.

Fastening the Metal clip around the strongest part of the Riot armour's belt, The Courier spun the small cylindrical coil into place, locking him in. Turning to the General and nodding, he inhaled one last time hoping that it wasn't his last and dived head first out of the Vertibird.

The air around him rushed and spat at him, darting right into his face before diverting around his body to cover the space that he left in his wake. Adrenaline coursing rapidly through his veins, he watched as Saint Lucas became closer and closer through his Riot helmet slash gas mask. He continued free falling until he was about ten meters from the ground, where the Vertibird, still firing the dual Gatling Lasers, hung in the air in order to let him descend manually. His body suddenly coming to an almighty stop in mid air, he began his decent from the single spot, standing upright. He checked that the AK was still there, which it was, and decided that he had everything he needed.

His feet touched the ground, and the light headedness he felt from falling evaporated instantly as reality came back into place. He had landed right in the middle of Saint Lucas, with the church close by, along with a handful of troopers and guards doing their best to repel the horde. Gravity had done his job, and he was now right in the thick of it, and that was where he belonged.

Hitting the ground with a _clack_ of boots hitting a well worn surface, The Courier unspun the cylinder clip, freeing him from the grasp of the Vertibird and entering him into the Battle for Saint Lucas.

On all sides there were Feral Ghouls, alerted to his presence, and from all sides they began to swarm. Gripping the AK47 in both hands, his right index finger slid into the trigger grip and, snapping the rifle up to his shoulder, he took aim at the nearest Ghoul and fired.

The burst of 5.56mm rounds penetrated the patchy flesh of the Ghoul in the chest area, cracking bone and dropping it with a withering hiss. Snapping to a second Ghoul, he fired again, and again on a third, and a fourth, and a fifth until he had shot a path directly to the church. He was about to make a break for the building when a trooper stumbled in front of him, Ghoul hot on his heels. Being taken down by the creature, the trooper tried to fight it off, but was overwhelmed by panic and fear. The Courier acted fast grabbing the Ghoul and yanking it by the neck off of the trooper to the floor. A burst of gunfire followed, and the young soldier gazed up at his saviour, then down to the bleeding Ghoul, then back up to The Courier.

"Th…Thank you!" he stammered. It was one of the troopers that had been in the Vertibird.

"Don't worry about it man!" Paylor extended a hand that the man took, pulling him to his feet. "Tell half of whoever we have left to focus on the North gate" he pointed over to the second archway that occasionally bled the withered figures of Ghouls from the entrance "The rest will clean up the remainder here!"

Nodding, the trooper bolted off, waving his hands and issuing commands that were well out of his jurisdiction. It just occurred to him that The Courier hadn't asked for his name. He made a mental not to do that, before dropping the clip from the magazine holder on his AK and loading a new one in from his bandolier with a satisfying click.

The battle raged on, and the tide began to turn on the invading Ghoul army. The Courier and the NCR troops assisted the town guards in clearing out the remaining ones within their walls before stemming the tide at the North gate.

The Gunship's dual Gatling Lasers spun into life, tearing wrinkled flesh from bone in streaks of brilliant red beams. The Courier and the soldiers had to dance around them as the shot, punched and slashed the Ghouls to the ground once and for all. As the last one inside Saint Lucas fell, the NCR Snipers positioned atop the Church made quick work of any stragglers who made a mad dash for the wave of gunfire that was about to befall them. Soon enough, as the dust and cordite ladened smoke settled, the Ghouls were defeated.

Exhaling with a sense of pride, The Courier, now placed at the Northern gate, started walking back to the church. A different buzz had taken a grasp on the troops, not working on moving the Ghouls' bodies outside the town as some of the Saint Lucas citizens began leaving the church.

"…And then I took it out with _one_ punch!" he heard a child tell his still visibly shaken mother as they passed by.

From the large oaken doors of the church, a wave of people flooded. The traders, the families and the dignitaries made their way outside, each wiping off sweat from their brow as though nothing happened. The Courier hated that, how some people valued their lives more than others enough to hide. He could understand the kids and the mothers, but anyone else should be told to take a gun and start shooting. He guessed the leader of church, the _minister_ they called them in these circles, would be out soon.

No sooner had the thoughts materialised in his head, a well poised figure drifted out of the church and onto the bloody land that was his town. White, wispy hair extended from his aged head, taking the current fears and pains of the Wasteland in his stride with the dark papal frock hanging draped over his body.

"You must be Courier Six…" he greeted me, holding out a hand for me to take "The General was telling me about you, I am Reverend Paul Franklin… "

Taking his hand to shake, Paylor was slightly taken aback when the minister bent down and kissed his knuckles. That must have been customary greeting, he assumed.

"I assume you are here to barter Saint Lucas into the Republic's hands?" affronting the Courier, he didn't stop, instead walking past him over in the direction of the houses.

"The Republic and I are merely business partners" The Courier stressed "What you do with your town is solely your decision"

There was a gap in their speech while the reverend chose his words carefully. He did not want to offend this "Courier", as it may hamper their chances with the Republic. A man of incredibly experience that coupled with his age, Reverend Franklin was well aware of the NCR's reach, extending from the Mojave all the way back west to Navarro. He was also aware, however, that they were an ever swelling mass, intent on taking control of any lands they see fit. The term "annexation" was such a loose term to them, and usually involved the military.

"Would you like to hear the history of Saint Lucas, Courier Six?" he offered, keeping his calm but airy tone as they headed towards a group of soldiers who were stationed near

"Erm…If you would give the time to explain it, yes!" the Courier ended unnervingly cheerily.

"Saint Lucas was founded on the principals on a man, not surprisingly, named Lucas. Long before the times of the Legion, he settled down with his followers on the lands that God had led him to, near the church that you have just defended. Lucas was not a stupid man, and was aware that the political landscape around him would change, but endeared to himself that he would not falter to such." The minister paused for breath, then stopped abruptly "However the rise of the Legion gripped the town…." He turned and the Courier saw that his face was contorted into a visible pain "…they raped…murdered…slaughtered our woman…all in order to carved a blood stained path to the West…" turning away, he voice regained some composure, resettling into the authoritative tone he had previously "so we hold grudges to the Legion, and are just in the process of rebuilding. While we are grateful for your work at Hoover Dam, we do not want a repeat of the violence we see here today…So in short, I accept the demands your General set down…just do not let history repeat itself, Courier…"

Not knowing what to say, Paylor merely nodded. There wasn't much to say, Saint Lucas was the NCR's, so the first half of his job was finished. He was, however, surprised at Reverend Franklin's story…but that would come later.

"Now that that is out of the way" the minister once again faced The Courier, electricity flowing through his greying eyes and extending his wispy white hair "I believe there is a meeting you must attend."


End file.
